Like Ice
by Jaws
Summary: Dallas Winston is alive and in New Mexico. Dally is supposed to be the toughest Greaser around, but he ain't got nothing on the man who has taken him in. Dally finally has met someone with more reason to hate the world than him. Completly original.
1. Edward

Disclaimer; Dallas Winston and co. are the property of the lovely S.E. Hinton, while Edward/Ted Forrester/Death/The Undertaker, and his um, business associates are the property of the absolute goddess Laurell K. Hamilton.  
  
A/N- This is kind of an alternate 'verse. Dally made it, but Johnny's dead. I had to move the dating to make Dally's age viable against Edward's, so I moved the events of the story to the present year, being 2004. Anyhow, if any of you have come across my other Anita stories, they're typically under Jaws, or Jawsslmshdy and get damn good reviews, so I know I got Ed and his crew down. This is my first foray into Outsiders Fanfic though, so don't bust your gut up too awful bad while you're laughing. 'Till later. With alcohol for all y'all, Jaws.  
  
Chapter 1  
  
My eyes are the color of ice. They've been that way since I was ten. They got worse when I was 13. They didn't stop getting colder. They keep on getting more and more blue as time passes me by, the temperature always dropping. They haven't changed much in the past year though. Ever since I got shot up, nothing doing. I guess there's really no way for them to get any colder than they already are. My three bullets to the chest have completely healed now. I didn't call the boys though. No reason. The kid's dead. That other kid, the youngest one, he's okay. I saw him completely pass out when I hit the ground after the third shot. He thought I was dead; they all did. I'm not. But that one kid, I think he actually likes me. I think he might have really cared. I feel a little bad though, about not telling the boys I'm alive. But hey, they're better off without me right?  
I'm living in Santa Fe now. I figured that if anything could melt my eyes, it'd be the desert heat, but no go so far. Still cold. My luck hasn't changed much. I boosted a car and started driving last night. Me being the dumb fuck that I am, I didn't think to check the gas as I went through the last town. So now I was testing my boots, strolling along the side of a deserted back country road. Nothing but dirt on either side of me, and a house coming up quick.  
The house was pretty normal for this state. One story, sprawling and white washed with blue shutters. But there was a big black hummer sitting outside of this house. I could feel myself smiling. My luck was looking up. I pulled a set of picks out of my jacket pocket and set to work, only to be interrupted a few seconds later by a piece of cold metal against the back of my skull. I smiled a little more and put my lock picks in my jacket pocket. I turned around slowly to face the bearer of the gun. He looked a little like me. Pale blonde hair, though it was neatly cut, blue eyes as icy as my own, and a slender build, topping off at 2 inches shy of 6 foot. He was wearing all black too.  
I kept on smiling at him. "Do it." I said smoothly. Hey, if he killed me I didn't have to worry about getting a ride back to Santa Fe from somewhere. I wouldn't mind dying. Don't especially want to, but wouldn't mind it. He gave me a considering look before making the gun disappear. I tried not to let the disappointment show. He looked me over, from the bottoms of my scuffed black boots, to the top of my messy blonde head. "What's your name?" He asked quietly, his voice inflectionless. I debated my answer for a few seconds. Oh well, I doubt someone holding a brand new Berretta nine mil to a persons head was gonna call the cops. "Dally." He nodded once. "Edward." I smirked. "Hi, Edward. Since you're apparently not going to shoot me, and I seriously doubt I'm gonna have the good luck for you to hand me the car keys, I'm outta here." I spun away and started walking, relishing the feel of my boot heels on the black top. "Dally." His voice never rose, but I looked over my shoulder. "You look like you could use a place to stay. Come on in."  
I never have been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. I shrugged and walked back to him. "Whatever." I meant Thank-You, but I'm a greaser, I couldn't say that. He seemed to get that. I trailed him into the house, which was exploding with color. The furniture was all different shades of reds and blues, and the walls were white, with colorful decorations everywhere. It didn't fit the man at all.  
"Dude, someone spill paint?" I asked disbelievingly. I've never seen that kind of chaos in a relatively quiet, empty place. He smiled slightly. "I usually stick with black and white. A...friend of mine suggested that if I didn't stop with the monochromic thing she was going to buy me pictures of clowns and put them everywhere. I added enough color to give you a head ache in order to avoid the clowns."  
I snorted. "This friend wouldn't happen to be female would she?" That was the only reason a normally sane man would live in this mess. He studied me dully, without any interest whatsoever. "Yes." I nodded once. "I get ya. Normally stable men will do anything for the right broad." "Quite. Are you hungry?" "Only if you got food." I answered distractedly. He smirked. "Come on." Ten minutes later I was staring down at a huge sandwich, bag of chips, and a soda. "Damn tuff." I said with a small smile his way. Another thank you. He understood it that time too. He sat down at the table and stared off into space while I pigged out. I cleaned up after myself, putting everything back where he had gotten it from and sticking my plate in the really nifty dishwasher thingy.  
I sat back down to nurse my soda, wishing it was something stronger. "How old are you?" He asked finally. "Seventeen." I answered. He nodded once. "No parents?" I shrugged. "Mom hit the road when I was seven. Left me with the old man. He don't really give a damn as long as he doesn't have to post bond." "How were your grades when you were in school?" "What's with the 411?" "Answer the question, I'll tell you soon." I shrugged. "My grades always sucked. The teacher people said I was a genius, but I spent more time in jail than out and after I hit twelve, I moved towns, and I got me a new gang. I spent a lot of time helping the gang, and not too much doing homework. I mostly went cuz I was bored and needed to take care of everybody else. Keep Two-Bit's smart mouth out of trouble and Superman's fists away from the teachers." "I see. What have you been in jail for?" I snorted. "What ain't I been in for? Everything from drunk and disorderly, to DUI, to possession, to Armed robbery, to grand theft auto, to armed assault, to attempted murder, to second degree murder. With a liberal few cases of evading arrest, and brutal assault."  
Edward smirked. "Yes, I can see those last two..." I grinned at him. "What can I say? I am a hood. Why shouldn't I look like one?" Edward set his chin on one fist, and looked like he was thinking hard about something. "I need an apprentice." He said finally. "I think you might make a good one." He looked me up and down once more before returning his gaze to my eyes. "What do you mean by apprentice?" I asked slowly. "The line of work I'm in, has a limited number of businessmen. Therefore, it is the duty of all of us to train at least one apprentice before we die. To carry on all of our knowledge and...er, wisdom. For a while I thought I had found one, but he's gone now. I believe that you would make a very good student as soon as we can curb your eyes and clean up your English." "Curb my eyes?" I asked with confusion.  
He nodded once. "Yes. Make the ice melt, like this." He smiled and it was happy all the way to his eyes. I sat back warily. "That's freaky man." I aid a second later. The look just disappeared and I was looking into his blank face once more. "It took some practice." He admitted. "What is your...ah, occupation anyhow?" He smiled again, but this time it didn't hit his eyes. "I'm an assassin." 


	2. White Bugs and Cigarette Burns

Chapter 2 A/N; Damn, am I evil or what, leaving you hanging like that? Anyhow, here's more of everyone's favorite sociopath...well, I guess that fits both of them...hmm. Here ya are, Jaws  
  
"I'm an assassin." Whoa, reality check. What was this? The newest espionage thriller movie? This dude didn't resemble James Bond in the least. "You're an assassin." I repeated disbelievingly. He inclined his head once. "Yes." "As in, people pay you money and you kill someone for them." I clarified. He shrugged. "Not always. A lot of the time, I work by favors, and if you can convince me of a good reason to kill someone, I'll invariably do it. There are things I prefer over money. I like to kill. Therefore, I kill whenever I get the chance." He said that like it was the most reasonable, normal thing in the world. "You know," I said honestly, "I'm as tough as a hood gets, but I don't know if I'd ever be able to kill an innocent person." He smiled, and it was almost reassuring. "Don't worry. I'm the best, my services don't get wasted on any one less than corrupt. Most all of the people I kill are evil, or at least very twisted and a potential threat to society." I grinned broadly. "Hey, I could live with that. Make like "The Punisher", huh?"  
I could tell he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "So, would you like to be apprenticed to me?" I thought about it for a minute. I didn't have any money. I had no car. I doubted that street fighting, and rolling drunks were desirable qualifications for a resume. And last but not least; I had absolutely no plans. No future. Yeah, apprenticeship it was. "Sounds good." I agreed. He smiled slowly. "I take it you can use a gun at least marginally well?" I grinned back. "Yeah, I can use a gun." "Good. We leave in the morning." "Where we goin?" "Saint Louis. An old friend has a small problem she needs help with. We are going to help her. Have you ever seen a werewolf?" I shook my head, attempting to keep my mouth from hanging open. Werewolves? What were we doing with werewolves? "Well, you will tomorrow. That's part of our problem. Now, come on, I've got three empty rooms, you get to pick which one you want."  
I picked the room decorated in grey and blue. Dark, silvery grey, and light, icy blue, close to the color of my eyes. I had a queen size bed, a big chest of drawers made out of some kind of white wood, a bed table, a desk and swivel chair, complete with notebooks and pens and things, and a radio/c.d. player. There was a big walk in closet, and a bathroom was right across the hall. There was, oddly enough, a mirror laying upside down on the floor underneath the window. Don't ask me why, cuz I don't know.  
I shrugged out of my jacket and draped it across the back of the desk chair. I flopped down on my back on the bed and toed my boots off, staring up at the ceiling. Well this was odd. It as one of those things that were so bizarre you never even imagined them happening. It was sorta like...when you have sex for the first time, and you look around and your like, "What the fuck? Is this really happening. Nah, I'm dreaming." But it's not even like that, cuz everyone thinks of having sex. It's more like this one time that I was at the Curtis's house. I was sitting on the couch, a beer bottle in one hand, a cigarette in the other, just chilling and watching T.V. Then Ponyboy and Johnny come running in with this big fuzzy white caterpillar they found. Then Steve and Soda run in the other door, and both of them roll over the couch, Steve grabs my cigarette outta my hand, accidentally sticks Pony in the ass with it, the caterpillar goes flying into my beer, then Two-Bit walks in, steals the beer and takes a swig while everyone is too busy howling in pain or laughing to stop him. Then Two Bit spits out the caterpillar which lands on the floor by the door way, where Darry promptly walks in, steps on it, slips and lands on his ass. Now I never woulda thought that that would have happened, or even dreamed it. But it did.  
That's sorta what this was like. Thinking of that damn fuzzy white bug brought an unexpected smile to my face. I wonder what the gang's doing right now? It's 2 o clock in the morning. Darry, Pony, and Soda are probably asleep, though Pony is most likely reading. Boy is that kid smart. Two Bit...well, he probably found him another blonde somewhere to impress with his smart mouth and quick fingers. And Steve...Well, Steve's probably busy getting the crap kicked out of him by his old man. Poor kid. Shoulda left a long time ago.  
It was strange, really. I should be dead. I should be in a cheap wood coffin under six feet of dirt for the rest of eternity. This ring I'm wearing should be buried forever, and my eyes should be rotted out by now. But no...I'm alive. No one had to bother buying a coffin. My ring was still on my finger, ready to be given away again, and my eyes were still cold and in my head. It was pathetic. I was supposed to die. There's no point to me being here. Nothing to do, no one to take care of, and no place to go. Oh well, I guess I'll soak it up as long as I can. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth and all that. Gift, hah! With that last sarcastic thought, I fell asleep. 


	3. Bud, Kools, Playboy and Cake

Chapter Three  
  
Still ain't mine. I enjoyed the caterpillar thing, did you? I hope so. My buddy Jessie thought it was funny. Anyhow, on to the fic, and enjoy.  
  
I woke up with a jolt to someone's voice from beside the bed. "Dally." I looked over at the blonde man. I remembered who he was and relaxed. There ya go Dal. "Oh yeah, nothing to worry about he's just an assassin." Yup, that made sense. I sat up. "Mornin' Edward." He nodded. "Good Morning. Breakfast is on the table. We'll have to go get you outfitted afterwards. Civvie clothes; fatigues, don't have to worry about weapons though. You can go shopping in my weapons locker. Our plane leaves at 5 tonight." I climbed off the bed and yanked on my boots. "Works for me."  
I shrugged into my jacket and ran a hand through my hair. Edward smirked and led the way out of the room. He was dressed different this morning. He was wearing a white button down shirt and blue jeans with cowboy boots and a big silver buckle.  
"You've never been around horses." It was a statement, not a question. He didn't have the walk of someone who had ridden for any significant amount of time. He eyed me for a minute before smiling wryly. "No. I don't like animals." I looked at him like he'd just said he didn't like sex. I shook it off and shrugged. "Alright. I'll just make a mental note not to get you a kitten for Christmas." Edward smirked. "I'd just use it for target practice." I rolled my eyes. "Find a nice group of white supremacists or Socs or something and use them for target practice. Leave the poor kittens alone." He looked at me oddly. "Socs?" I rubbed my neck. "Er, yeah...Socs, socials." He shot me a slightly confused look. I sighed quietly. "I lived in a real big city until I was 12, and I was in a gang there. I was a fucking terror. I was twelve years old and a worse hood than most drug dealers. You name it; I'd do it, just for the thrill of it. Then I moved to a smaller place, but it was still pretty rough. It was split right up the middle.  
"The Socs are the rich kids from the west side. The Greasers were the people from the wrong side of the tracks. When I was in the gang, I always had something to hate. There was always somebody trying to take our turf, or fucking with the wrong broad. So I was always in a rumble or a fight. When we moved, I didn't have a gang no more. I mean, sure I hung out with a group of guys, and we watched each others backs, but it wasn't a gang, and there were no rivals to hate. So I hated the Socs. The difference between a Hood and a Grease is that instead of becoming a badass by choice, a Grease is born into it. Their parents are Greasers, their sibs are Greasers. But none of them want to be Greasers.  
"A Soc is a bored rich kid. They don't steal and get in trouble because they have to, they do it because they think it makes them tuff. And they jump us all the time. They nearly drowned Ponyboy, and beat the hell outta Johnnycake. I've even been busted up a few times. It's their idea of fun. And it's not like it hurts, cuz after all, we're just greasers." I intoned bitterly. "We don't have emotions, or pain, or nerve endings. The Socs got a rep. Everybody says they're like ice. They're not though. They don't know what ice is. They just don't care who they hurt. Us Greasers, we're ice. We explode and do bad shit, yeah, but we're ice. Cuz we do have feelings. We care who we hurt, but it never hurts us. Ponyboy, the kid I mentioned earlier, he was a mess whenever he got into a fight. He's a really sensitive kid. He hated hurting anyone, but he could, and he did, and he didn't regret it. He knew the score. He knew we couldn't let it touch us. We're ice. They can't touch us. No matter what they do, we'll never break cuz we got nothin to lose."  
"I can see the fire though. The ice is invisible." He was looking me square in the eye, no doubt reading the hate written in my retinas. I don't know what was wrong with me. I don't usually run my yap this much. There was just something about this Edward guy. Like maybe he knew what it was like to be completely alone. To want to die. To have no choice. I nodded at him once. "Yeah. I know." I looked at the table, there was bacon, both crispy and chewy, scrambled eggs with little bits of peppers in them. A pile of toast, and orange juice. I cracked a smile looking at that table. Where was the beer and chocolate cake? What happened to grape jelly with eggs, and ice cream, Pepsi and playboy magazine? Edward sat down and noticed my smirk.  
"What's so amusing?" He asked as he dished eggs onto his plate. I plopped down in my seat. "I ain't never had a breakfast like this. When I lived at home, breakfast was whatever I could scrounge up. When I started hangin' with the Curtis' brothers, breakfast got weird. Ponyboy eats chocolate and smokes cigarettes like nothing you've ever seen. In the mornings he's always trying to smoke, eat chocolate cake, drink chocolate milk, and find his track shoes all at the same time. Sodapop eats his eggs with Grape jelly and drinks chocolate milk. Two-Bit has three or four beers with his breakfast of half a chocolate cake, Darry just kinda moseys through the middle of the chaos with a cup of black coffee and a couple hardboiled eggs, and I kickback in the middle of it with a bud, a pack of Kools, a piece of cake, and a playboy."  
He laughed quietly. "Sounds like you enjoyed it." I grabbed a piece of toast and smothered it in grape jelly. "Yeah, I did. It's over now, but while it lasted man...it was the best time of my fucking life." 


	4. Brownings and The Executioner

Before I get into the story, I have a few little review responses, since I seem to be ignoring them pretty rudely. So here goes nuthin,  
  
Niriel- I'm glad it kept you awake. Me, I guzzle Iced Tea and eat Pizza like nobodies business to keep me awake, but hey, reading Fanfic works. I definitely plan on updating more.  
  
Scarlett7- Thanks! I actually get that a lot. Potential is apparently my purpose in life. Too bad I never seem to reach it. ;-D  
  
Flyergirl-07- Thank you! You were the 1st person to leave more than one review, and it was deeply appreciated. I hope you keep on liking it. I myself, was not fond of the third chapter. It was too rushed in my view.  
  
Nicole- Yes, I agree with you there; Dally would make an excellent assassin. Actually it wasn't really their personalities that made me think, "Ohmybloodyhell! Dally could be Edwards apprentice," it was more the fact that they look exactly alike. Both are short, slender, silver blonde, pale, and emotionless with icy light blue eyes. I'm one of those people who suffer deeply from obsession, and I just happen to be very obsessed with my adorable little sociopathic nutcase assassin, Edward, and I've been writing about him for several years, Then I stumbled across my paperback copy of the Outsiders, I said, "AhHa! More Fanfic!" So here I am. Yeah, well, I'll shut up now.  
  
MissLKid- Hello, happy to hear you enjoyed, and I will most certainly write more soon.  
  
Livie- Thank you big, big bunches! I hate reading OoCs; they piss me off, so I'm glad to hear I kept Dally mostly in character. I Know I did well with Edward, because I have a helluva lot of practice, but I am seriously happy that I got Dally right too! Anyhow, thank you a lot.  
  
Oblivious Misconception- Thank you and I will! I know Dally's the tough, silent type, and Edward is a manipulative, conniving, secretive bastard, so I tried to work as much information in the story as I could without pulling them out of character. I liked the bug thing too. I hope you continue to enjoy.  
  
ShyXshortieXbabe- Thank you. It didn't feel right to just jump into the story right off, so I used a little bit of crude poetry to kinda fancy it up a little. You know...I'm not very good at that whole concept. But thanks for the kudos none the less. Yeah, lots of people have gotten a kick out of the assassin thing. I'm also glad you enjoyed the fuzzy white caterpillar. I can't figure out what to do with the spacing, but I'll work on it.  
  
Skye Renegarde- Thank you for reviewing, and to answer your protests, "YES! DALLY CAN BE AN ASSASSIN! HE'S...WELL....UHM...HE CAN!" lol. And, HELL NO! who you be talkin to gurl? My Ed boy HATES vampires. He has made it his life goal to destroy the evil bloodsucking assholes. He's just a little bit jealous I think. A very bitchy...oh shit, I can't tell you, it would give away the story. DAMN! Ok, so stick with me, and keep on reading, and I'll tell you why Edward doesn't like vampires. I hope you get back soon, so you can read my updates, I'm having fun here.  
  
Jessie- top giving away parts of the freaking story! I swear you're gonna be the death of me, kid. By the way, like the name. It's my name too. And my best friends name as well. Thank you for reviewing.  
  
Ok, so here you go, it still ain't mine, but what the hell, I enjoy playing with them, It's not like you'd get any money if you sued me anyhow. Yeah, I need a big rubber stamp to put on my forehead that plainly states, "Dirt Broke" Cuz I am. My only possessions in this world are thirteen rabbits, a computer, a couple of C.D.s and a few books. So on with the story, here ya go.  
  
Chapter four  
  
We caught a flight to Saint Louis at five. Edward had me fully clothed and respectable looking. I refused to cut my hair though. It's my hair, and I'll damn well wear it the way I want to. After I was outfitted in a completely new wardrobe, mostly consisting of jeans and T shirts, he had taken me back to the house, grabbed a black duffel bag, and led me out back. I watched him curiously as he pinned a big cardboard target to a bright green cactus, and handed me the duffel. "I want you to try each one until you find the one that fits your hands the best." He said as he stepped back. I tentatively reached into the duffel to find thirteen different guns. What the fuck? What were we doing with thirteen guns? Oh yeah, way to use your head Dal. Assassins usually do have guns. I swear, I am stupid sometimes. The first one I tried I hit the target with, but it was kind of off, and Edward shook his head. "That's a nine mil Beretta; my personal favorite. It's too small for your hands and doesn't suit you at all."  
I just shrugged and went through four more in quick succession. Edward shook his head each time. "That's a 10 mil Glock, they're temperamental, and can get downright bitchy when they don't like their handlers." "That's a Ruger. Damn good thing it doesn't like you, fucking paperweight." "How in the hell did a Colt get into that bag? No apprentice of mine is carrying a freakin nickel plated .45. I didn't even know I owned one of those bastards..." "Well, shit. I was hoping you'd like the Heckler. I'll swear by those puppies any damn day." On the sixth try I got a boxy looking black gun that just felt right. I hit the target dead on, and got a surge of appreciation. Edward nodded approvingly. "That's the one. She's a Browning Hi-Power 10 mm. Damn good gun, if you're into the type that bitches you out over nothing. She'll hold 13 shots, or 14 if you carry in the chamber. Now, come on, we'll get you a holster. Tomorrow morning my friend and I will start teaching you how to play with your new toy. We'll see about teaching you to use a knife, too."  
I just rolled my eyes. "Edward, I'm a hood. I'm a JD, A greaser, a thug. I can use a fucking knife." He had smiled, but he didn't respond, instead shouldering the duffel and strolling back to the house. I looked down at the gun in my hand. "Well." I said to it finally. "Since you're a girl, according to Edward, and you'll bitch me out for no reason, I think I'll call you Sylvie." With a firm nod I headed back into the house.  
Edward had found me a shoulder holster to put my gun in, but had taken it back until we got off the plane. I'd never been on a plane before, so it was kind of a new experience. When the plane landed about 3 hours after it started, I followed Edward off the plane and to luggage claim. He found one of those cart thingies and we loaded all the bags on it. He looked around casually, before looking off into the crowd. His eyes settled on one person, and he pulled his sunglasses off his nose. A beautiful, petite, dark haired woman walked out of the crowd and nodded to him. "Edward." She said stonily. He nodded back. "Anita." She looked me up and down before turning back to Edward. "Kinda young for back up, ain't he?" He smirked. "No. This is my apprentice." Anita shot him a look that could kill. "Great. It's not enough that you're a psychotic nutcase. Now you're making little psychotic nutcases." If Edward had been anyone else he would have looked a little upset, as it was, his smirk just got bigger. "I'm sure you'll get along just fine. He's a Browning fan too." Anita laughed a little. "Well, it's a start." She turned to me and held out a hand. "Hello, I'm Edward's friend, Anita Blake." I shook. "Dallas, but everybody calls me Dally."  
She grinned, "Dally it is." I looked her over. She was hot. She was only in her mid twenties or so, which was kinda young, considering. Her hair was waist length and curly, so black it was almost blue. Her eyes were as black as her hair, and her skin was even paler than my own. She was only about 5'2 and a about a hundred pounds even, with curves in just the right places. She was wearing black jeans and Nikes with a red tank top and a short sleeved button down black shirt over it. I was guessing there was a gun under the shirt. There were scars visible on her forearms, leading up to her biceps. She held out her arm for inspection when she noticed me looking. I shrugged and grabbed ahold of her wrist, examining her arm. There was a pinkish burn mark shaped like a cross on her forearm, dragged slightly crooked by 4 long claw marks. Her wrist was slit across three times, and the bend of her elbow was a mass of white scarring. The other arm was almost as bad.  
I whistled softly. "You've been through the mill." I murmured. She grinned. "Anita is to Blood thirsty Psychopaths as Brad Pitt is to females." I nodded. "I can get that. Only things I got are scars from knife fights and a few chicken marks from cigarette butts." I shot Edward a dark look. He had taken away my smokes and wouldn't give them back. Anita rolled her eyes. "Men are all idiots." She pronounced. Edward, in turn, shot her a look that plainly stated, "Yeah, whatever." Anita smirked. "You know I'm right. Men are all idiots, overly needy, self obsessed, or asssholes, there is no other way for them to be. Richard is an asshole, Jean Claude is an idiot, Asher is self obsessed, and Nathanial and Jason are overly needy." She pointed a finger at me. "You are an idiot," she turned to Edward. "And you are an asshole." Edward winced. "Great, I get delegated to the same category as the fuzz ball."  
Anita rolled her ayes "Well, I don't know about being an idiot, but where I grew up, playing Chicken and fighting were time honored traditions. And if you didn't play chicken, you were chicken, and if you were chicken, you were jumped by Greasers. And if you got jumped by your own gang, you were dead. So I played a lot of games of chicken." I shrugged good naturedly. She rolled her eyes. "I hope you got the "I'm not chicken" thing out of your system, cuz around here...I just don't think you've got what it takes to be dominant. Even Edward's a lesser around here." I shot him a "what the fuck is this girl on about" look, and he smiled evilly. "Anita runs a pack of werewolves, and takes care of a pack of wereleopards, as well as raises zombies, helps the cops, and fucks master vampires. She's the most dominant bitch in the city. No other preternatural female around can top her. I'm not considered pack. According to Jason, I'm the wind outside the cave." Anita smiled softly. "But even the trees themselves bow before the wind." Her smile got bigger. "They didn't touch each other; she never said they didn't talk to one another." She chuckled slightly and shook her head.  
"Well, come on. Jean Claude wants to talk to you before we start busting Hyena balls. I think he wants to be sure you're not here to kill me or something." Edward cocked a brow. " haven't tried to kill you in ages." She shrugged. "I know, but apparently our little idiot is worried. He's waiting at the circus." I shot them both a look that stated the words, "Ya'll are crazy!" loud and clear. "We're going to the circus to see this Jeannie guy?" Anita nodded. "Yeah, but it ain't like any circus you've ever seen." I shrugged. Whatever. If you've seen one circus, you've seen them all. Lions and tigers and trapeze artists. I had no clue how wrong I was. 


	5. Edward's Emotional Side and Two Bit Rebo...

For my report on Magnetism, I chose to use the subject of Medical Diagnosis, with the more narrow sub-topic of MRI's. MRI stands for Magnetic Resonance Imaging. An MRI machine is fairly large, though new models are getting smaller and smaller for convenience. The MRI was used for the first time in 1977, having been designed by Dr. Raymond Damadian, a physician and scientist, along with colleagues Dr. Larry Minkoff and Dr. Michael Goldsmith. Their cumulative effort to perfect the machine took them nearly seven years.

The typical MRI machine is around seven foot tall, seven foot wide, and about ten foot long, though, generally, the newer the machine is, the smaller it is. The machine usually consists of a large circular magnet on one end and a horizontal tube running through the magnet. The patient lays on his or her back and gets slid into the magnet through the tube. Whether they go in head or feet first, and how far they are slid into the magnet depends upon the extent and area of their examination. The machine is generally used to discover what type of tissue any type of tissue is.

Using radio wave-like pulses of energy in conjunction with magnets, the MRI scanner can pick out a small **point** inside the patient's body and ask it, essentially, "What type of tissue are you?" The point can be as small as half a millimeter cubed. The MRI system goes through the patient's body a little at a time, constructing a two or three D map of tissue types. It then squashes all this information together to create a Two D image or a three D model.

I chose to use the MRI machine because it seemed to be an easily researchable topic. My biological father is radiologist, and I've always kind of wondered what exactly he did for a living. This seemed like a great chance to find out. If the doctor were to tell me I might have lung cancer, they would probably use an MRI on me to figure it out. That could have a pretty big impact on your life, right there.


	6. Chapter 7

**Color Consultant**

A career as a color consultant is one viable choice for someone graduating with a cosmetology degree from a vocational school. A color consultant has varying tasks, such as selecting colors that work well with someone's complexion, and choosing colors for a certain business or room to promote a feeling of tranquility or enhance other moods, and generally make a soothing, comfortable atmosphere.

Many color consultants delve into the psychologically based field of color therapy. This is the study of colors and how they affect the human psyche. Hospitals, prisons, school boards, resteraunts, and companies often seek advice from color consultants as to which color would be best suited to the mood or atmosphere that is being created.

Color consulting is a new and rather trendy employment opportunity often times resulting in a privileged and wealthy clientele, which means large pay checks for those who choose to work in this not yet fully explored field.

Many color consultants are hired exclusively by resteraunt or department store chains, and are moved around the country according to where their help is most needed. This particular side of Color Consultation requires a lot of shopping.

I believe that I would be fairly good at this particular career choice because I am very color conscious and enjoy making colors complement each other.

**Manicurist**

A manicurist works to clean, shape, and polish their clients nails, as well as doing things such as nail extensions and acrylics.

A lot of being a professional manicurist revolves around giving the customer what they want, though many times, the customer themselves is not completely aware of what exactly that is.

Manicurists are not the most highly paid professionals in the Cosmetic field. They generally make little more than minimum wage.

There is not much chance of career advancement in this particular field, though if you are talented you could possibly receive large tips from your clients, as well as earning their continued patronage.

Most manicurists work for shops that cater only to manicures and pedicures, though many spas and retreats offer the services of a manicurist. Exclusive hotels and resorts can also be counted upon to have a skilled manicurist on staff.

I don't believe that I would be overly good at this particular career, as it would not give me enough opportunity to stretch my creative wings, if you will. I'm afraid I would feel rather constrained by the needs and wants of the customers, instead of doing what I could to make them look their very best.

**Make-up Artist**

A makeup artist works with cosmetics in order to color and beautify the face and body of people for costuming purposes. Many makeup artists will also work with wigs and other costuming materials.

The most viable career opportunities in this field are those in which you are working directly for either television or film, or a modeling agency of some sort. There are many more ways to work in this particular field out there, but the aforementioned are the most common and best paying.

The pay in this field is not the best. Most makeup artists are forced to work another job, often in a similar field in order to pay the bills.

The demand for these talented artists, however is expected to grow fifteen percent in the next decade or so, which means that more and more artists will be able to support them self solely on the commissions of the work they love to do.

There are many schools across the country that specialize in the application and upkeep up stage and theatrical makeup. Working on Broadway is considered to be the holy grail of makeup artists.

I think I would be good in this career as I would enjoy making people look like something completely different than what they truly are. It would be a chance to showcase my own creative talents, though you would think more people would be appretiative of the hard work and creative genius required to perform this job.


	7. Jason the problem child

Well, sorry it took me…what's it been, like six months? But anyway, I got side tracked, but now I'm back again, and here is the next chapter, which isn't very good, but hell, better than nuthin, right? 

Cheers,

Jaws

Chapter 6 

We went down a set of steep granite steps to a large stone hallway where we were greeted by the sounds of shouting and bickering. "What the fuck?" Anita said confusedly. Jason rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "It's Jean Claude and Asher. They've been going at it for the past two hours. Luckily, I speak French, though J.C.'s been throwing around some terms so completely gutter that even I don't get them. Asher just gets more refined as he goes, J.C. gets louder, more insulting, and dirtier. Asher says J.C. loves you more than him, J.C. says he's imagining things, that he loves you equally, Asher says that's not enough, he wants to be loved again, and J.C. says he is loved, and then calls him several swear words, then the whole thing starts over again." Anita looked at him, obviously horrified. "You mean Jean Claude is yelling AND cussing?!"

Jason nodded gravely. "Yup." Anita shook her head quickly. "Whoa. He's gotta be royally pissed…" She strode forward quickly and pushed open a heavy wooden door. The noise of the screaming got even louder, revealing that the two men were indeed arguing in French.

_"Oui, Beau! Je vous aime mieux! Je vous ai aimé meilleur pour toute éternité! Je vous aime plus que n'importe quoi dans ce monde, vous avez absorbé automatiquement le bâtard! Mais vous n'étiez pas ici, et j'ai aimé Anita plutôt! Mais maintenant vous êtes arrière et je vous aime calme, mais je suis la limite à elle! Nos pouvoirs l'un sont. Je ne peux pas la tourner loin sans le meurtre un de nous!" _I had absolutely no idea what the long haired brunette man with the deep blue eyes had just screamed at the fuming blonde man from across the huge bed, but obviously it was very bad. Anita got even paler than usual, Edward's eyes narrowed in an unusual display of emotion, and Jason's chin hit his chest. I poked him in the side. "Yo, Translation, please?" He looked at me and blinked a couple times. He closed his mouth slowly. "Jean Claude just told Asher that he's always loved him best, but that he isn't able to give Anita up because they're bound. He basically just said that he just keeps Anita around for her power, not because he loves her."

Ouch. That one had to hurt. Anita's look of hurt soon turned to one of fury. She flung the door the rest of the way open, so hard it split in half, and the half that was left nearly smacked her on the rebound. "Oh don't worry about me, Jean Claude!" She shrieked. "I'll be fine. I'm about 10 times more powerful than you are. I'd barely feel a twinge if we separated, but hell, it just might kill you, wouldn't it? Well then, let me just go ahead and solve the problem. Might as well kill you now." She pulled a gun that looked a lot like mine from under her left arm, and aimed it at the vampire. Less than a second later he fell to the floor, holding his knee and hissing with pain. She'd just shot out his fucking knee cap! Right on, man!

She stalked forward, gun still aimed at him, but Jason darted in front of her. "Anita, Knock it off! If you kill him the entire fucking city is gonna go to hell. He's the only vampire in the city that's powerful enough to control everyone." Anita took a deep breath and backed off, sliding her gun back under her arm. Edward looked vaguely disappointed. "You're right Jason…Jean Claude…I can't even think of a name bad enough to call you. You're a vampire. I guess that about sums it up. Nothing but a giant fucking leech. You know…Richard is an asshole, but you just beat him out. At least he really does love me, even if he doesn't want to. I'm done. That's it. I just…shit…Jason, you have to get to work, take Dally with you. Neither one of you need to see this shit."

Jason half bowed. "Of course, Lupa." He darted forward to rub his cheek against hers and purr into her ear. He grabbed my hand and half drug me out of the room, resisting my attempts to stop and eavesdrop. The tiny blonde werewolf marched single mindedly up the stairs, still tugging me along behind him. He pushed open a door to one side of the long set of stone steps just in time for a huge, pale redhead with no shirt and a long sword slung across his back to rush through. "Hurry up, Damien, before she kills someone!" Jason chided. The red head shot him a venomous look and headed the way we had come, taking the steps three at a time with his amazingly long, green leather clad legs.

Jason sighed. "C'mon Dally, everything'll be fine as soon as Damien gets there." We headed out of the huge warehouse and towards the tiny parking lot. Jason pushed the button on his key chain and unlocked the doors of a flashy sky blue Camero. "Nice." I said appreciatively. Jason grinned cockily. "The master of the City's favorite pet, and the Head bitch's most obliging lover gets paid very well." I shook my head slightly and climbed in. Jason started the car and peeled out of the parking lot, turning the metal on the radio down to a level where you could almost hear yourself think. "So what's your story?" he asked curiously.

I thought for a minute before answering. "Typical sob story. Mom's weak, Dad's an asshole who likes to use his fists. Half raised on the streets of N.Y. In and out of jail, lots of drinking and smoking, lots of straight up rodeo rides and crooked card games. Caught three bullets to the chest from the pigs, survived it, went roaming, ended up in Santa Fe. Got caught trying to boost Edward's H2, had a gun aimed at my head, then 20 minutes later he decided I'd make a good apprentice. So here I am." Jason shot me an indecipherable look before nodding once.

"You're right. That's the usual sob story, almost down to the letter. Well, except for the apprentice part, most of us aren't fond of Edward." I looked the petite werewolf up and down, taking in the fishnet and leather, The sky blue iris' the exact color of the car, the sly grin, and the mischievous look in his eyes. "Alright, now I've spilled my guts. Your turn."

He shifted in his seat. "Well…I was raised in a middle class all American family. Two working parents, a younger sister. When I was thirteen, we went camping. We did it all the time, we were real outdoorsy people, ya know? Anyway, we got attacked by a couple of rogue werewolves. Killed my Mom and Dad almost immediately. My sister was 10 at the time; she lived a few more hours. I got a slash across my cheek and a bite on my shoulder. I was barely hurt at all. So I ran off. Didn't even go after help. None of them had pulses. I was a pretty intelligent kid, I knew I'd be in foster care if I stayed, and I didn't especially want that. So, I ran for it. I ended up here, in Saint Louis. The pack got ahold of me almost immediately.

"If you haven't noticed, I'm kind of a smart ass. Normally, people frown on that, but the head bitch, the Lupa at the time, was kinda perverse. Okay, REALLY perverse. Raina…man. There are no words to describe Raina. She was a sadist; literally. A fuckin sadomasochist if you wanna get right down to it. She got sexual pleasure out of other people's pain. She took the word slut to a whole new level, she made porno and snuff films with her wolves and the leopards around here. She was a real freak of nature, so I guess it didn't surprise anybody, that she was a pedophile as well. She thought me being a smart ass was funny, and she…I guess you could say she took me under her wing. I was her play thing. An amusing toy. I got the respect any teenager wants, she got a steady fuck.

"When I was about 17, one of the pack members, Richard got really powerful. He's a really nice guy for an alpha werewolf. Raina wanted a piece of him. So he agreed to be her plaything for a month if she would give me up. She said okay, and after the month was up, Richard took me home with him. As I said, I was a smart little bugger, so I got my GED online in about 8 months. By then I had a steady job, so I started going to college, majoring in English lit. I got through about a year of it, when I discovered the wonders of being a blood donor. So I became snack food in Nikes for Jean Claude, the master vampire of the city.

"Richard threw up his hands at about that time and kicked me out, but Jean Claude took me in, so it wasn't a big problem. And since I was his Pomme De Sang, Jean Claude paid for everything I did, my clothes, my gas money, let me live with him, and bought my food and cell phone, plus gave me an allowance, so with that and a steady paycheck, I ended up pretty well off. I quit college because I didn't figure I needed it anymore. I mean, seriously, I was getting paid VERY well for letting Jean Claude bite my neck once a day, and other than that having sex with any thing and everything that moved. If I never got any other job, or a college degree it wouldn't matter because, hell the money I already had would keep me pretty damn comfortable for the rest of my life.

"Then Anita came into the picture, killed Raina, made Jean Claude fall in love with her, and basically complicated everyone's lives all to hell. She yanked my sorry ass back out of the cesspit of sex, sex, and more sex that was my life, and sent me back to school. Made me feel like I was about 8 years old, but hell, she did it for my own good. So now I'm a blood donor for Jean Claude, and a quick fuck for Anita when she needs it, as well as part time college student, and a full time employee of JC inc. It's a good life."

I snorted at that. Hi story was apparently finished just in time, as we pulled into a dimly lit parking lot. He turned off the car and grinned at me. "This is it, work sweet work." I looked at what was apparently the back entrance of…wherever we were. "Hey, are you sure your boss won't mind me coming in with you?" Jason grinned. "Trust me, if Anita said you're to come to work with me, then you're coming to work with me, and nobody's going to argue." Jason climbed out of the car, and I followed suit.

"What is this place? And what exactly do you do?" I inquired. Jason's grin broadened. "This is Guilty Pleasures, and I," He slid his hands down his sides and flashed me a slow smile. "Am a stripper." He headed for the back door, tossing me a saucy wink as he went. I groaned. Jesus Christ. My life just isn't fair.


End file.
